


Love is the most important thing in the world, but baseball is pretty good, too.

by barthelme



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: AU, Baseball, CATCHER ARMIE, College, College AU, M/M, fuckboi Timmy, you literally need to know nothing about baseball
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2019-06-20 08:57:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15530745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/barthelme/pseuds/barthelme
Summary: "And, yes, because Armie hasn't been fucked in a month and if he is going to stay "good" for the rest of the season, he needs one last fuck. "





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is out of my comfort zone, but here you go!

The whole disaster starts on President's Day. 

Because it's a holiday and Armie has been varying degrees of drunk since noon.  
Because open gym starts the next day, practices in a week, and the season in a month.  
Because of the article in _Sports Illustrated_.  
Because of the article in _Sports Illustrated_ and how his mother hasn't spoken to him since her book club asked her if Armie was, "You know. One of the homosexuals."  
Because he spoke with Henry on Friday and their decline from boyfriends to a long distance, open, but loving relationship had finally stopped at, "We'll still be friends, okay?" 

(They won't.)

And, yes, because Armie hasn't been fucked in a month and if he is going to stay "good" for the rest of the season, he needs one last fuck. 

"You don't seriously do that, do you?" Liz asks. They've finally made it to the front of the bathroom line at some frat house. Alpha Delta Phi-Pi-Ho, or something like that. As much as his father wanted him to join one of the fraternities, Armie never got the appeal. He rushed for a total of a half day before realizing he'd be better off making friends the old fashioned way, even if he didn't have something to break the ice at an interview for a job he would never want. Liz bites the edge of her solo cup while she ties her hair up into a ponytail.

Liz hasn't been any varying degrees of drunk since noon. She has just been drunk. Armie is fairly certain she was drunk when she woke up. Softball girls, he has learned, go hard or they don't go at all. 

"Yes, I seriously do that," Armie hisses. 

"Wow," she finishes her beer and passes the empty cup to Armie, who slides it under his own. The bathroom door opens and Liz shrugs, "I fuck all season," before slipping inside and locking the door behind her. 

Someone nudges Armie's back and he turns, stares down at what has to be a freshman. Abercrombie shirt? Check. Styled hair? Check. Looks like he's had more than three hours of sleep? Check. "You with her?"

Armie laughs. Finishes his own beer. Looks down at the freshman again. Laughs harder. 

_____

"So," Armie passes the joint to Liz. They've taken over the porch swing and Armie zips his hoodie, pulls his hood up. It's pushing midnight and Armie has just about given up hope of hooking up with anyone, so he's decided to get sloppy drunk instead. "The upside is that I was called a powerhouse by _Sports Illustrated_. The downside is that they say that doesn't matter because I had the audacity of saying, 'Love is love,' and they've broadcast to the entirety of the baseball community that I might come with baggage if anyone drafts me."

"But you were in _Sports Illustrated_ ," Liz exhales and leans back against Armie's chest. 

"In the sports equivalent of an article on 'Don't Ask, Don't Tell.'" Armie leans forward, forcing Liz to slide over. "One more beer and then we go?"

"One more beer," she echoes. "Oh shit, Nick!" and she's stumbling across the lawn to greet Nick, who has clearly just gotten back in town from visiting his girlfriend. Sweatpants, sweatshirt, and a bag of McDonald's fries. 

"Nick!" Armie waves. "Beer?"

"Yes, please, please, please," Nick shouts back. "It was a family weekend." Liz and Armie visably cringe.

_____

Because reporters cornered him the moment he got back on campus.  
Because his coach sat him down for an awkward discussion about how other teams thought he was going to get special treatment.  
Because he knows Henry started dating someone else before they'd offically broken up.  
Because Liz has been seeing this girl and has less and less time for him.  
Because. 

Just because.

_____

Because Nick and Liz start rambling about Liz's new 'friend' who Armie hasn't even met yet.  
Because it ends up being three more beers before they even pretend they're going to leave.  
Because the house is emptying and Armie bumps into him and he says, "Oh, hey." And Armie is just drunk enough that some idiot with low hanging sweatpants and socks pulled up over his pant legs looks like someone he wants to put his mouth on. 

He has curly hair and a jaw that Armie wants to come all over.

Because Armie is an idiot. 

____

They're in the bathroom and--thank God--there isn't a line anymore. 

His name's Timmy and he's a freshman. Sober Armie would (and should) walk out at this point, but drunk Armie needs a dick. Plus, the kid is already shoving his pants down and reaching for Armie's hair. It's not everyday Armie gets yanked around, so he sinks to his knees and opens his mouth. Lets Timmy slap his cheek with his cock. "Fuck my mouth," Armie hisses. 

"Yeah?" Timmy guides the head of his cock to Armie's lips, his tongue. "Want to gag on this?"

Armie shuts his eyes to hide the way his pupils sink back into his head. 

( _Because it will feel better after and you can forget about everything else for a bit_ , he promises himself.)

Timmy threads his hands into Armie hair. Starts fucking his mouth earnestly. "Look at me."

Armie shakes his head, but still moans around Timmy's cock. He'd be lying if it didn't feel good. The last few visits, Henry seemed to be phoning it in. 

(Because he was fucking. Someone. Else. He was loving someone else.)

Timmy slows down. Fucks into Armie's mouth, shallow, sharp. "Fuck," he runs his thumb along Armie's jaw. "You look fucking good down there." 

Armie ignores him. Pushes his pants down to his thighs and reaches back. He'd gotten ready this morning. First his fingers, then the green dildo Henry bought him last year. Thanked baby Jesus and all that was holy his roommate wasn't back, because he could stick the dildo to the floor and ride it until he was so fucking close. So close, but unable to come because he needed a person attached to it. He needed, wanted a hand on his hip, his cock, his throat. He reaches back and slips two fingers in. Three. Uses his other hand to jerk Timmy off while he sucks on the head of his cock before standing up and facing the wall. Pulls his fingers out. Braces himself against the wall. "Fuck me."

"Are you," Timmy asks, reaching around Armie's body. He strokes Armie's soft cock. 

"It's fine," Armie hisses. 

He hears the crinkle of a wrapper and looks back, making sure the kid is actually putting the condom on. "Hurry up," he says. He knows Liz and Nick are waiting. It wasn't supposed to take this long. 

And then Timmy is pressing in, fucking him. Pressing his cheek agianst Armie's shoulder; when Armie looks down, he sees Timmy is on his tiptoes to fuck up into him. 

"You fingered yourself today? Wanted a cock in you all day? Such a fucking slut."

Armie doesn't like the statements. He doesn't like that Timmy is so sure of himself, of his words, of his thrusts. He misses the innocence of Henry asking, "YOu want my cock? You want to be my slut?" Like he wanted to be dirty, but he wanted assurance all at the same time. It was cute.

Timmy doesn't need assurance and it's hot as hell. Slightly annoying, though.

"Please stop talking," Armie hisses, pressing back against Timmy's cock. He's rewarded with a hand around his throat. Another pulling his hair. 

"Shut up," Timmy says and Armie reaches down. Palms his hard cock. Licks his lips and squeezes his ass hard against Timmy's cock. 

Armie knows he's big. Tall. Broad. Knows he intimidates people in the halls just by existing, so he tries to play it down. Hunches his shoulders when possible. Smiles a lot. 

But right now? No.

He reaches back, pushes Timmy away. Feels the ache of Timmy's cock leaving his body, but knows it's only temporary. "Jesus, fucking, Christ," Armie hisses as he turns around and clamps a hand over Timmy's mouth. "Get on the fucking floor and please. Shut. Up." He doesn't expect it, but Timmy sinks down onto the cold tiles. Armie manages to keep a hand on Timmy's mouth. He doesn't need to hear whatever the kid memorized from some porno last night. Simply climbs onto his lap. Sinks down onto his cock. Keeps his hand steady on Timmy's mouth as he rides him. 

He can feel Timmy biting at his hand, but years of having his hand pummeled by fastballs have made the nerves relatively numb. He closes his eyes, thinks about fresh cut grass, dirt under his fingers, and the thrill of tagging someone out at home plate. 

_____

"Ready?" Liz asks. She's leaning against Nick, who looks ready for bed. 

Armie nods. "Ready." He tries to ignore Timmy's wave as he slaps his longboard to the sidewalk and disappears towards campus.

_____

Just, like. Because everything is a lot more difficult and real than it was three years ago.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for this.

A barrage of DMs, dick pics, and reminders that he is destined for hell prompts Armie to delete his Instagram, Twitter, and Facebook. 

"But what if your fuckboi is trying to find you," Liz asks. They're playing catch in the hall. 

(There are three good things about student athletes being required to live in the athletics dormitories. 1. It's close to the gym and the fields. 2. It's close to the good cafeteria (and they get all you can eat passes.) 3. The RAs basically let them get away with everything. Likely because they feel bad that adults in their twenties are forced to live in a dorm.)

Armie flips the ball at her a bit too hard. It smacks into her glove and she laughs. "He's not my anything," Armie says. "Do you know what he saved his number as in my phone?"

Liz pitches the ball underhand at him, catching him off guard and he quickly reaches down to prevent a fastball from crushing his nuts."Wait, you didn't tell me you got his _digits_! Holy shit, you like fuckboi, don't you?"

Armie most certainly does not like fuckboi. Was the sex good? Yes. Once the kid shut up (even if Armie technically had to shut him up), yeah. Was he cute? In a weird, grimy, "I use Axe body spray in lieu of deodorant" way. Did he maybe like that he's had Armie's number for three weeks (yes, it was three weeks ago and Liz and Nick will not let him live it down) and he hasn't heard a peep from him? Did it maybe make him want to text a quick, "hey." and then claim to be drunk the next morning? 

Yes. 

"Shut up. It would've been awkward if he asked for my phone and I just said, 'No' as I was cleaning his j--" Armie stops himself. Not going there. Tosses the ball closer to Liz's feet so she has to scoop it awkwardly. "Not the point. He saved it has 'ur boi t.' Like, 'U-R, boy with a fucking 'i', letter 't.'"

"Sounds like an old ranch."

Armie is fairly certain Liz grew up on a different planet. He squats down, pats his glove. "Try not to break my jaw or anything," he grins and can basically hear his coach yelling at him to wear the damn face mask. "And no one knows how that sounds like an old ranch."

"Like, you know. Circle T Square. It would have like a symbol with a circle and a T. You know, just shut up," she throws a change up. "It's a ranch thing."

"That is one of the most Texas things you've ever said."

Armie is happy to change the subject to anything other than his boi T.

_____

Life goes on. Open gyms go well; the majority of the team shows up, which is an anomaly. Not everyone is planning on playing professionally; open gyms are above and beyond what's expected of the rest of the team. But, they show up. "It's for you, you know," Nick says as they leave the weight room one night. "We're all behind you."

"Oh shut up," Armie says, but he smiles at the floor. It does feel good to have the entire team supporting him, no matter what e-mails he gets from strangers who think he should "die in a car fire" or "get aids and die, fag."

It feels great. 

He brings donuts to the first official team meeting. 

Because he's been on a strict diet for two months.  
Because it's cheaper if you get three dozen.  
Because his mom still hasn't talked to him and it feels good when he walks to class and gets a high five from a teammate. A simple, "Armie! What's good?"  
Because two scouts e-mailed to say they had other plans for the home opener.  
_____

Henry hated baseball. Not baseball itself, but baseball season, Armie supposes. Boyfriend or not, the "no sex" rule was strict. It's likely part of the reason they shifted to an open relationship, even if it was still closed on Armie's end. 

Either way, it's one of the few superstitions Armie has. Whether or not his performance on the field has anything to do with his dick doesn't matter. 

Armie doesn't take chances.

____

Practices start and Armie is afraid to say it, but the team looks good. Thankfully, Liz isn't afraid to say anything. "I'm calling it," she says as they walk back from the cafeteria one night. It's a week until their first game. Liz's first game is a week and a day away; she's less confident in the softball team this season. "You guys are going all the way. Nick is killing it out there. Did he actually practice in off season? That's so unlike him."

Armie laughs. "Yeah, he got a few calls from scouts and started to get really serious."

It's cold, so Armie puts an arm around Liz. "I thought he didn't want to play professionally."

"You know what he wants to do less? Work in an office."

(Armie and Nick are both business majors, but for different reasons. Armie thought it was a sensible choice in case he got injured and couldn't play baseball. Nick liked the idea of wearing a nice suit every day.)

They both laugh and Liz wraps an arm around Armie's waist as they hear the unmistakable click clack click clack of a skateboard rolling over the sidewalk cracks. 

"You ever notice that skateboards sound like," Armie starts, then feels the rush of air next to him. Looks up to see Timmy rolling by, staring back at him. Timmy nods in his general direction and offers a slight wave. His baseball cap is backwards and a cigarette is dangling from his fingers. "Like a horse. Galloping." 

"Oh my god," Liz laughs. "We should go talk to him!"

She tries to pull Armie along, but Armie stands still. "Absolutely not. Nope."

_____ 

And then, Timmy is everywhere. Outside his Intercultural Communications class. The cafeteria. The library. Each time, Timmy waves at him, or nods. One time, he passes by, slaps Armie's back and says, "Sup, bro." Not a question, just a statement. 

"And he's always with someone," Armie says as he finishes his second set of squats. Nick is doing crunches on an exercise ball, but he pauses to raise an eyebrow at Armie. "Like, never the same person. And they're always hanging all over him. I'm sure he's fucking like," Armie cracks his neck, "All of them. I should get tested. Shit."

"You didn't wear a condom?"

Armie rolls his eyes. "Yes, he wore a--"

Nick sits up, almost falling off the ball. Raises his eyebrows. " _He_ wore a condom? You let that little--"

"Woah, hey, watch it," Armie says before spacing his feet hip width apart. Staring in the mirror. "Do not start throwing around weird, outdated, gay sex stereotypes. Now is not the time. I could have chlamydia."

Nick shakes his head and goes back to his crunches; Armie starts another set of squats. "I think if he used a condom, you're okay."

"And he always dresses like he's ready for a rap battle, but you know he's probably terrible at rapping. Just awful."

____

Timmy is everywhere, but he still doesn't text. Armie has typed and deleted, "hey." no less than a dozen times. Each time, he reminds himself that even if some sick, twisted, fucking idiotic part of his subconscious wants to hook up with Timmy again, the season has started and he just can't. He's worked too hard to fuck this up, and (so far) the deck is already stacked against him. 

So, he deletes the text and moves on. Usually goes for a run until the desire to text Timmy goes away.

_____

And then, Timmy shows up at the last practice before the first game. 

"Isn't that," Nick gestures to the dugout. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before rotating his arm in a circle. He's been throwing hard today and Armie--until now--has been excited for the game tomorrow. 

Armie turns and locks eyes with Timmy. Timmy, who is wearing gym shorts that fall almost to mid-calf and a Run-DMC t-shirt. A gold chain glistens against the sunlight. A baseball cap is turned sideways. 

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Armie says, emphasis on the "kidding."

He watches as Coach Guadagnino hands Timmy the stat book. 

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Armie says, emphasis on the "fucking."

Watches as Timmy asks a few questions. 

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Emphasis on the "you." Armie drops his mask to the ground. Throws his glove at Nick's head because the asshole is almost doubled over laughing. 

Armie stands outside the dugout, looking down. Hands on his hips. "The fuck is he doing here?"

"Oh!" Coach claps his hands together. Beams up at Armie. "You two know one another. That's great. Armie here," Coach turns to Timmy, "Used to do stats as a freshman. That was before he became our star. Armie, Timothée here will be keeping stats for us this season."

"We don't really know one another," Timmy smiles. Winks. He fucking winks and Armie could kill him. "But, we've met." 

Armie clenches his fists. Timmy waves in his general direction. 

_____

At the team dinner, Nick assures him, "It's fine. He'll be on the bus, on the opposite side of the dugout, and he doesn't even come to practices. You'll probably forget he's there."

Armie finds that really hard to believe.

_____

Armie plans on going to bed early. He's actually in bed, lights off, socks off, covers up by ten o'clock. And then he gets a text. 

ur boi t.: _u up_

No. Nope, nope, nope. Armie puts the phone down. Rolls over. Fluffs his pillow and closes his eyes. 

He's able to ignore the next vibration for a total of thirty seconds before he's rolling over, unlocking his phone, and staring at a picture of Timmy. In bed, shirt pulled up and tucked under his armpits to reveal a thin chest. Soft, pale stomach. Tiny belly button, nipples. A hand down the front of his boxers. 

Shit. Armie licks his teeth before clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. His thumbs hover over his phone.

"Don't do it," he whispers, and is _this.fucking.close_ to turning his phone off and going to bed when another pictures comes through. This one lower. Mainly just boxers. And the head of Timmy's cock pressing against the elastic waistband. "Fuck me," he hisses and before he knows it, he sends, _maybe. why?_

He answers the phone on the first ring. 

"Hey," Timmy says. His voice is husky and Armie knows he should hang up. Go to bed, wake up early, do some morning stretches. Eat a good breakfast. "You seemed stressed today."

"I wasn't stressed. Just." 

"Surprised to see me?"

Armie nods into the darkness. "Yeah."

"Happy to see me?"

What a loaded fucking question. Yes and no and every answer in between. "Not really."

Timmy laughs. "You know, I'm thinking about you on your knees right now. You're really good at sucking cock. Has anyone ever told you that?" He doesn't let Armie answer. "Like, I've had my dick sucked _a lot_ and you're probably top five."

Armie rolls his eyes. "Probably?" Armie doesn't know when he got hard. He doesn't know when he pushed his boxers down and started fisting his cock, but this is his life now, apparently. 

"Yeah, probably. And when you rode me? Shit, no one's made me come like that before. I'm kinda interested in what other things you're good at."

"I," Armie hisses. He's closer than he should be, but he'll chalk it up to first game jitters. "Please," he whispers. "Don't stop talking."

Timmy laughs. "I bet you like eating ass, don't you? I'd let you do that, if you asked. You'd want to finger me, fuck me, too? But I don't think I want you doing that."

"Why?" Armie is there. 

Another laugh. There's a slight gasp, whimper. Timmy sighs and curses under his breath. "I don't think I could take your cock."

Armie's hand stutters as he tries to remember what he can about Timmy's thin hips, small ass. Pictures him bent over, biting his lip. A pained expression on his face, looking over his shoulder as Armie opens him up with his cock. "I'd make you take it."

"Shit, fuck," Timmy groans and they're both coming, the line filled with noises they'll be embarrassed about later. 

Armie should hang up. He should hang up, clean up, and go to bed. 

"Jesus Christ, Armie. Would you?"

"Would I what?" Armie closes his eyes, suddenly tired. Exhausted.

Timmy doesn't sound like himself. The cockiness is gone. The smirk ending each sentence is nonexistent. "Make me take your cock?" 

"If you want it. I have to go to bed, though. So."

There's a brief pause. "I want you to. Make me, I mean. Not go to bed."

"Well, I have a game tomorrow."

Timmy sighs. "Yeah. I know. But, I do want you to fuck me. Good luck tomorrow."

Well, shit. Armie stares at his phone. Pulls his boxers off the rest of the way and cleans up as best he can. Before he nods off, he goes into his contacts and changes ur boi t. to timmy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bartbarthelme on tumblr.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Armie wakes up to three texts.

elizabeth: _breakfast on me? lou's diner @10. bring nicky._  
nicky: _please tell me liz is treating us to her traditional breakfast. eggs at the cafeteria look like soup rn._  
timmy: _pregame suck and fuck?_

Armie responds _yes! i love you. so does nick., 10am @lous, no._

_____

Armie has a routine. 

(Okay, maybe he has more than one superstition. The routine is another one.)

Before the first game, he gets breakfast at Lou's with Nick and Liz. Liz always pays. Then, he goes for a walk into town, gets a decaf latte at Java Joe's, and then goes to the little league field. If there's not a game going on, he still sits there and watches the field. He walks back to campus, showers, naps for forty-five minutes, and then does his homework for Monday. 

(This is the placeholder where he used to call Henry. Instead, he holds his phone, paces up and down the hall a few times, and continues the routine.)

He packs his bag. Double checks everything. Waits for Nick to come over with his own bag. Then, they walk to the field together. 

Today, his walk to the field is interrupted by a text. 

"Yeah, I'll probably forget here's there," Armie says, showing Nick. Timmy, naked on his bed except for the stats book covering his crotch. 

timmy: _good luck today ;D_

"Shit," Nick laughs. 

"Yeah," Armie shoves his phone into his warm-up pants. 

_____

Timmy is already at the field when they get there. 

( _Which means,_ Armie thinks, _that fucker took the picture earlier today. That fucker planned on sending it right before the game. That. Fucker._ )

Timmy is sitting in the dugout, stats book open in his lap. His hair is pulled back in a small bun, a few curly tendrils hanging in his face. He's wearing grey sweatpants and one of the team's shirts that actually fits his frame. "Hey," he says without looking up. He has the roster in one hand and a pencil in the other. Clearly focused on printing everyone's names. "When does the other team get here? They didn't e-mail their roster like they were supposed to."

Nick and Armie exchange a _look_. 

Nick drops his bag to the ground, crouches down to dig out his glove and toss it on the bench. "They'll probably be here in ten, fifteen minutes." Zips up his bag and walks towards the door to the locker room. 

Timmy looks up and smiles. "Didn't think you'd answer last night." Armie doesn't have a response. "Glad you did." He closes the book, pushes the pencil into his bun. "Wish you'd taken me up on my offer this morning."

"I have a routine," Armie rolls his eyes and follows Nick to the locker room. 

_____

Armie isn't sure what to expect. 

Because he's been warned other teams are annoyed with the coverage Armie is getting.  
Because only two scouts show up.  
Because when he goes out to warm up Nick before the first inning, the ump doesn't hand the ball to him. He leaves it on home plate.  
Because the first batter winks at him. 

But then it's all dirt, dust, and Nick. Nick, who strikes out the first two batters, even though Armie makes shit pitching calls. Nick walks to home plate and wraps two fingers through Armie's mask. "We're all here for you, okay? Now get your fucking head in the game."

The third batter hits a high foul to their dugout. Armie freezes, then sprints, waving off the third baseman, calling, "Mine, mine, mine!" and making the catch before careening into the fence. He stops, looks down. Timmy smiles up at him and gives a golf clap. 

_____

They win, 5-1. 

(Armie gets hit his first at bat. A fastball to the thigh. He waves off his teammates, who look ready, willing, and very able to defend him. "Not a big deal, guys," he calls out. Tucks his batting gloves into his back pocket. Nudges Coach Aciman at first base. "Let me run, please." Aciman twirls his hand above his head and Coach G. shrugs at third. The next hit is a double and he easily rounds into third. "I'm going," Armie tells Coach G., who sighs. Scratches the bridge of his nose.

Coach G. opens his mouth, and lets it close, knowing it's not worth it. "I know."

Armie takes a huge lead and the home crowd is on their feet. Sprints the moment the ball leaves the pitcher's fingertips. The catcher squares around, but Armie plows into him, making sure to slide a hand across home plate as the ball drops, rolls away. 

Safe, he brushes himself off. Smiles at the catcher. "If you ever call that pitch on me again, it'll beat the shit out of you."

Back in the dugout, he's met with high fives and laughter. Sits next to Nick, who ruffles Armie's hair. Asks, "Better now?"

Afterwards, Armie helps clean up the dugout. It's a freshman job, but he always thought those rules with bullshit. When he leaves, Timmy is sitting in the bleachers, hunched over the stat book. 

_____

Armie pulls the leg of his boxers up. Sure enough, a deep bruise is already forming on his thigh. "Great," he rolls his eyes, knowing it'll be the first of many. 

He's about to head out and meet the team at Nick's dorm when he gets a text. 

timmy: _so it turns out im fucking stupid_  
timmy: _and i don't know how to keep stats_  
timmy: _and i need your help. please._

Armie groans. The game is still fresh in his mind. _my room is 271._

____

They sit on the floor. Timmy has changed into a hoodie that's clearly too big for him. The sleeves hang over his fingertips. "Okay, so it's not that hard."

"Yeah, I fucking know. That's why I feel stupid."

Armie takes the pencil and points at the diamond. "Bases. Put a line for each base they get." Three small boxes above four small boxes. "Strikes, balls. Their first batter had two balls and struck out." He marks the boxes, and they go through the game like this until Timmy figures out how to indicate a pitching change, pinch hitter, homerun. 

"You can ask me if you're not sure, okay? No one cares if you ask questions; they care if you fuck up their stats."

Timmy nods. "I think I got it." He closes the book and slips the pencil into the spine. Runs a hand through his hair. "Thanks."

Because they won.  
Because the scouts seemed to nod approvingly a few times and scribble in their notepads.  
Because Timmy said, "Thanks."

Armie pushes forward and kisses him. Holds a hand to the back of Timmy's neck, opens his mouth. He crawls into Timmy's lap, grinds down on his cock. Timmy is slow to respond, and Armie almost stops. Apologizes. Swears at himself. 

And then Timmy's hands are on his waist, his back. Slipping down his track pants to cup Armie's ass. A finger presses against his hole and Armie arches away. "No, no," he hisses. 

Timmy smiles against his lips. "I told you, I don't think I can take your cock, Armie."

"No," Armie whispers. Kisses Timmy's lower lip, his cheek, his jaw before pulling back. He stands up and moves to the bed, pulls a pillow into his lap. "I can't."

He wants Timmy to text him this picture. Hair a mess, legs spread. Cock tenting the fabric of his sweatpants. Lips red. Pupils blown. "I felt your cock," Timmy whines. "Yeah, you fucking can."

"I have this, you know. Superstition." Oh, God, this sounds stupid. This is really fucking stupid. "I can't fuck during the season."

He looks away because Timmy is palming his cock. "Are you fucking kidding me with this bullshit?" Emphasis on everything. Armie nods and Timmy falls back on the floor and groans. Shoves his hand down his sweatpants and pulls his cock out. "Then get down here and suck my cock, you fucking tease." He rubs his thumb over the head of his cock and uses his other arm as a pillow. Closes his eyes. 

Armie's cheeks burn, and he opens his mouth to lay into Timmy about everything that is wrong with what he just said, when Timmy opens his eyes. Winks. "I'm just kidding; you don't really have to. But I am going to jerk off because I can't walk across campus like this. Can I use your bathroom?"

Because the other team's catcher looked like he was about to shit himself when Armie shouldered into him.  
Because Timmy winked.  
Because Timmy asked for help and his dumb hoodie makes him look pocket-sized and that--for some reason--is a thing Armie is into all of a sudden.  
Because his rule is not fucking. He never made a blowjob rule. 

"No, you can't," Armie says. He slides back to the floor, and crawls between Timmy's spread legs. Licks a line from the base of his cock to the tip and looks up at Timmy, whose mouth is open, cheeks flushed. Timmy reaches down and rubs Armie's cheek with his thumb. It's soft, gentle, and really not anything like Timmy. Armie presses slightly against the touch before sliding down until Timmy's cock presses the back of his throat. 

"Do you realize how beautiful you are?" The words hang in the dorm; Armie's chest pounds. "When I saw you at that party," Timmy licks his lips, "I thought," he thumbs Armie's earlobe, "I didn't think you were real. So, fucking, beautiful."

Armie closes his eyes and pushes down harder. Gags around Timmy's cock. 

Because no one has ever said he's beautiful.  
Because Timmy's just saying it because he wants his dick sucked. 

He pulls back, spits on Timmy's cock. "I want you to choke me with your dick."

He opens his mouth, rests his tongue on his bottom lip, and waits. He waits longer than he thought he would have to, even if it's just a few moments. Then, Timmy's hand is tangled in Armie's hair and he's fucking up into his mouth. "I got so hard when you ran into that guy," Timmy whispers. "Made me think about how rough you're going to be on my ass."

Afterwards, Armie sits back against his dresser and watches as Timmy readjusts his clothes. Slides the stats book into his backpack. "So, where are you from?"

Timmy slips a backpack strap over his shoulder. "What?" He takes a step to the door. Fiddles with the strap. 

"Where are you from? Like where did you grow up?"

He takes another step to the door. "Oh, ugh. New York." His hand is on the doorknob, but he doesn't twist it. "You sure you don't want me to," he gestures towards Armie's crotch. "I don't mind. My first class isn't until--"

Armie waves him off. "No, no."

Then, Timmy's opening the door, but still looking at Armie. "This isn't," he starts. Stops. "You don't have to pretend to want to know me, okay? We can just do this."

Armie doesn't know what to say, so he nods and lets Timmy leave.  
_____

They win the next game, 3-0. Nick pitches a no-hitter and Armie hits a homerun. Afterwards, when they get in line to shake hands with their opponents, every player pulls their hand back when they get to Armie. It just makes Armie's smile bigger. 

He stays behind when everyone files to the locker room. "Do I need to mark a no hitter somehow?" Timmy asks.

Armie shakes his head, scans the pages. "No, it all looks good." He wants to say something else, but then Timmy is pulling his headphones on, shoving the stats book in his backpack. Walking away.

_____

Timmy: _want to celebrate?_

Armie knows what that means. He doesn't respond.

_____

Timmy: _got three fingers in and i still don't know how ill fit that cock_

Armie shoves his palm against his dick. No. It's game day.

_____

Timmy shows up early for the game, like always. He doesn't sit in the dugout, this time. He waits in the bleachers, smiles when he's joined by some guy in jeans and a short-sleeve button up. His hair is styled like a 1950s television host and he looks completely out of place next to Timmy, who is wearing acid washed jeans with fucking elastic (Armie though elastic jeans were only for pregnant women, but they look good on Timmy) pulled down to reveal boxers printed with rainbow pot leaves. 

"Could you be a bit more obvious," Nick asks. "Stop staring at the kid."

"Not staring. Making sure he's," Armie shrugs. "Okay or whatever."

Nick stretches his left arm across his body while Armie bends to touch his toes. "Yeah, I think Timmy can handle the debate team captain."

"Shut up." Armie says. Moves to sit in the grass, spreads his legs and bends forward, feeling the stretch everywhere. When he looks up, Timmy and Mr. Debate are gone. 

They win, but barely. 1-0. A walk off homerun.  
_____

timmy: _wish this was u_

Armie doesn't want to look, but apparently he enjoys making himself miserable. He unlocks his phone and there is Mr. Debate, on his knees under the bleachers, lips around Timmy's cock (which Armie would recognize anywhere at this point.)

 _k._ Armie responds. 

He goes into his contacts and deletes Timmy's number. 

_____

Timmy is still everywhere, but he's back to not texting. Armie knows it's because he won't fuck. Or because he asked where Timmy was from. Okay, he doesn't really know.

"I mean, if that's all he wants, then fuck him," Liz says. She looks up from her textbook. "I didn't even think you liked him."

Armie highlights a line in his notes. "I don't _like_ him, but it pisses me off that he just."

"Fucks around?"

Armie shrugs. "It's dumb. I don't even know anything about him, but it pisses me off."

Because he's only had one serious relationship.  
Because Timmy doesn't seem to understand what a serious relationship is.  
Because he knows nothing about Timmy but desperately wants to.  
Because he doesn't let people fuck his mouth, but he likes when Timmy does it.  
Because he'd let Timmy do worse, do anything, but he'd be fine just going to dinner (even if Timmy showed up with one pant leg rolled up to his calf.)

Hey," Liz closes her book. Leans in. Whispers, "Here is this crazy idea. Tell him you don't want him fucking anyone else. If he says no, move on." She shoves her stuff in her bag. "I have to go to practice. Stop this whole," she gestures in Armie's vicinity, "High school shit."  
_____

Armie runs into Timmy at the library. He's (surprisingly) alone. 

"Oh, hey," Armie says. He's already found the books he needs. Timmy has just a notebook. Armie realizes he has no idea what Timmy's major is and he feels stupid. 

Because he expects Timmy to want only him, but the only thing he knows about him is that he's from somewhere in the state of New York.

"Studying?"

Timmy shakes his head. "Writing. Have a workshop next week."

"Workshop?" Armie slides into the chair next to Timmy. Tries to peer into his notebook. Notices Timmy's phone on the table light up. Timmy checks it. Laughs. Turns the phone off. 

"Yeah, I have a story due. Non-Fiction 300."

Armie reaches for the notebook, but Timmy slaps it shut. Pushes Armie's hand. "I thought you were a freshman. Don't you have to be a junior to take 300 level classes."

"Not if you annoy the professor all winter break and send him samples of your work." He waggles his eyebrows at Armie. Timmy looks different today. Plain jeans, a white t-shirt. Bags under his eyes. "I'm not as stupid as you think I am."

"I don't think you're stupid."

Timmy laughs. Opens his notebook and writes a line. Looks over at Armie. "I know what guys like you think about guys like me." He stares. "Now, I have homework. So."

Armie gets the message, even if he's not entirely sure what type of guy Timmy thinks he is.

____

Armie ends up at a frat party. 

Because Armie might have gotten daydrunk on a Wednesday.  
Because they didn't have practice.  
Because his only class was cancelled.  
Because he called his mom and she clearly let it go to voicemail.  
Because he left a message. Because she didn't respond.  
Because it doesn't matter how old you are; you still want your mom's approval.  
Because there's an article in the school newspaper about him that only has a few sentences about baseball.  
Because he wants to text Timmy but now he doesn't have his fucking number.  
Because he doesn't think he's stupid at all.

Nick isn't drinking. "This is a terrible idea, Armie. We have practice at noon." 

"This is a great idea," Armie finishes his drink and stands up, wobbles. "Liz said I need to get over this high school shit, so I'm," he takes a step towards the kitchen. "Getting over this high school shit."

Nick sighs. "No, you're getting shitfaced." He stands and wraps his arm around Armie's waist. "Maybe we should get you back to your room."

"One more beer," Armie says. Nick knows it's useless to convince him to leave. Knows it's even more useless to physically try to force him to leave. Sloppy drunk Armie is basically the Hulk. "But first," Armie holds a hand up, points like he has a great idea. "I need to piss."

He wiggles free from Nick and manages to walk up the stairs. The first door he tries is a linen closet that's been turned into a beer pantry. The second door is locked. 

The third door is a bedroom. An occupied bedroom. "Shit, sorry," Armie says, but then his eyes focus and he freezes. 

"The fuck, man?" One of the frat guys is sitting at the head of the bed, leaning against the wall. Guiding Timmy's head down on his cock. "Close the fucking door." Timmy doesn't stop. Doesn't look up. His shirt's still on, his pants pulled down to his ankles. 

Another frat guy is behind Timmy, fucking into him, and Armie's stomach hurts. 

Because Timmy is just letting them do this.  
Because Armie would fuck him, even if it goes against his superstition.  
Because he can see that Timmy's cock is soft. 

"Timmy," Armie says. "Come on, let's go."

Timmy pulls off the guy's cock and turns his head to Armie. His eyes are bloodshot, chin covered in spit. He rolls his eyes and goes back to the guy's dick.

"Close the fucking door," the guy repeats. 

He does. Stumbles down the stairs and finds Nick. "I want to go."

_____

unknown number: _ur not my babysitter_

Armie groans and pulls a pillow over his face. Practice is going to be a bitch.

(He throws up halfway through practice and Nick covers for him. "Yeah, we tried that new That place last night.")  
_____

They lose. 

They lose and it's Armie's fault. He overthrows second base in the ninth inning. He should have hit his mark, gotten the out. Instead, the runner made it to third and is easily batted in. They lose in the bottom of the fucking ninth. 

He gets on the bus. Keeps his head up and eyes forward as he walks past where Timmy is sitting. Every seat is taken except the one next to Nick, who turns sideways, placing his feet in Armie's way. 

"Fuck you," Armie hisses before walking back to Timmy's spot and sliding in next to him. Timmy looks out the window. 

They make it a half hour in silence. Armie wants to ask why he fucks around. Why he would let two guys do that to him. Two guys who would normally make jokes about him, about them. He wants to ask why he isn't enough for Timmy.

Armie checks his e-mail. There's a new message from a scout that wants to talk to him after their next home game. He'll respond when they get back. 

nick: _if you don't talk to him i am telling liz and she is going to murder you in your sleep._

"What part of New York are you from?"

Armie bounces his knee, looks over at Timmy. Watches him swallow, lick his lips. Folds his arms in front of his chest. Sink down into the seat. 

"Sorry I asked."

Timmy responds, "I knew how to keep stats. I'm not an idiot."

"I never said you're an idiot."

Timmy snorts. They stay silent the rest of the trip home. Timmy climbs over Armie and exits the bus before the driver turns the engine off.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hhhhh.

"Liz is such a bitch," Nick laughs. They're in the bleachers and Liz is pitching. "I love her. I want to make her my wife."

Liz is currently in a full-count standoff with a batter, who keeps calling time and stepping out of the batter's box. Adjusting her socks, her ponytail. Trying to throw Liz off. And Liz gives it back, waiting for the batter to be ready, then calling time herself, stepping off the mound. Cracking her neck. Scratching her elbow with her glove. 

"Well, I think you need to get in line," Armie nods towards the top of the bleachers where some frat boys have written "ELIZABETH # 22" on their bare chests. 

Liz and the batter seem to settle their battle and she steadies herself, pitches, and throws it down the middle. The batter strikes out looking. 

"Like, she's just," Nick sighs. "Such a bitch. Such a talented, kind, beautiful,"

"Bitch," Armie finishes. 

"I mean that in the nicest way. Like," Nick claps, actually shouts "Woo!" and sits down. "Like, I'd get home from work and take my coat off, drop it on the floor, and she'd tell me to hang it the fuck up, and she'd raise an eyebrow at me and I would be scared, but my dick would also be really hard. Really. Fucking. Hard. Speaking of bitches," Nick notes, "Have you stopped being a little bitch about this whole Timmy ordeal."

Armie glares. "I'm not being a bitch."

"Kinda being a bitch. And it's fucking with our season."

This is true. They won their game the night before, but Armie was off. His throws to second were high, his bunt pick-ups were sloppy. He played okay, but not well. 

"He won't even talk to me anymore. I think he's pissed that I won't have sex. But I don't see how that's a big deal since he's--"

Nick shakes his head. "You do not get to--" He cuts himself off. "So, okay. Liz. I've been in love with Liz since freshman year, right? But I don't get to be pissed that she fucks other guys like," Nick shrugs, "every night. Because I haven't told her I don't want her to do that. That I'd like to take her out for dinner. And until I get the balls to do that, I don't get to be mad. You get that, right?"

Armie sighs and nods. "He called me," he leans in, "called me 'beautiful' the other night, and I didn't know what to do. I thought he was joking. So I asked him to make me choke on his--"

"Nope, nope, stop talking."

"Okay, so anyways, and then he acted like I was insane for asking where he grew up. And the other day, he tells me he already knew how to do the stat book, but he asked me for help and--"

Liz strikes another batter out and the game's over. They win. "You are an idiot. An actual idiot. Like, really, officially stupid. It is hard to be friends with someone this stupid."

____

Oh. 

Armie sits up in bed. It's two in the morning. 

_OH._

He reaches for his phone. 

_sorry if i've been a dick. i don't think you're an idiot. i like you._

Things he almost adds to the text, but thankfully doesn't, because he is an adult:  
1\. i don't like it when you fuck other people.  
2\. i want to fuck you.  
3\. i want to kiss you.  
4\. i want to take you out.  
5\. i want you, i want you, i want you. 

timmy: _k._

Armie laughs. He had that coming.  
____

Another away game. 

Armie doesn't mind away games, but he notices there is more hostility towards him at away games. People are more comfortable on their home field. 

He sits next to Timmy, even though there are plenty of open spaces on the bus. 

"Hey," he says. 

Timmy nods at him, looks down at the book in his hands. "I have homework."

Armie reaches over, lifts up the side of the book. _Montana, 1948._ "I like that book."

"Yeah, it's good. I read it my senior year."

Armie smiles. "Do you think the dad killed his brother?"

Timmy looks up. Glares. Looks away and sighs. "Shit. I never thought of that." He gapes out the window. "Holy shit, I never thought about that." He looks down at the book and flips to the end. Buries himself in the book. 

Armie shrugs. Reaches over and loops a finger through one of Timmy's curls. Tugs softly until Timmy looks at him. "I was serious. I'm sorry that I was a dick. Am a dick."

Timmy clears his throat and goes back to his book. 

____

It's a close game. They're tied, 1-1 in the bottom of the eighth. Runners at first and third. A bunt that's just far enough that Armie can't leave home plate, so he squares up, holds his glove up. An easy target for Nick. 

He's blocking the plate, but there's a play. There's a fucking play, so he doesn't care. Drops to his knees, completely hiding the plate. The runner, #22, is small, so Armie knows he has this. The ball hits his gloves and he slaps downwards, hitting the base runner. 

Out. 

"Ataboy, Nick," Armie calls, tossing the ball back to Nick. Brushing his legs off before reaching down to help #22 up. He's a small guy and it can't feel good running into Armie. 

"You can't block the plate, you fucking faggot."

Armie shrugs. Turns his back just as the player kicks dirt at him. 

____

Coach Aciman rolls his eyes. "Does anyone know where Timmy is?"

They've won, 2-1. Armie hits the winning RBI. 

"I saw him on the field," someone offers. 

Armie sighs. "I'll go look for him." 

He jogs off the bus and back to the field. Checks their dugout, finds Timmy's bag. Picks it up and walks over to the other dugout. He hears voices and momentarily thinks he will give up. If Timmy is really fucking someone on the other fucking team he will take every single step back.

He hops down and walks towards the locker room. Turns a corner and finds Timmy pressing #22 against the wall. His hand is at his throat. 

"If I ever hear you speaking some neanderthal, 1950s bullshit ever again, I will fucking find you and I will fuck your face with my cock until your eyes bleed. I will tell everyone that you came when I did it."

Armie doesn't know if that's possible, but he's slightly turned on and also slightly horrified. Timmy is terrifying when he's angry. 

"Timmy," Armie says. "You don't have to do this."

"This isn't about you. It's about this dickwad being a fucking--"

"Timmy," Armie says. "We're waiting for you. And this idiot is not worth it." 

He sees Timmy's thumb tighten on the guy's neck. The way the guy tenses. The pleased way Timmy smiles. 

"Yeah, okay." Timmy lets go. Cracks his knuckles. 

____

They make it to the dugout. 

They make it to the dugout and Armie wraps an arm around Timmy's waist. Pushes him against the wall and hoists him up. Timmy wraps his legs around his waist and kisses Armie's cheek, his nose. 

"Jesus, Timmy," Armie hisses. His cock presses hard up against Timmy's ass. "I like you a lot."

"I like you." Timmy nips at his ear, his neck. "A lot." His lips. "I want you to wreck me with that cock."

Armie pulls back and glares. "You really need to stop talking like that."

Timmy winks. 

____

They sit together on the way home. It's dark, so they hold hands. 

Timmy whispers, "I thought you just wanted to fuck. I felt stupid when I called you--"

"I know," Armie whispers back. "I know now, I guess. I thought you just wanted me to suck your dick."

"Well, I did."

Armie presses his forehead against Timmy's shoulder. "Well, I wanted to."

Timmy links his fingers through the back of Armie's. Brings his palm to his cock. "You still superstitious?"

Armie rolls his eyes. "Yes."

Timmy huffs. "Okay, so I'm from Hell's Kitchen. And I'm a writing major."

Armie grins. "What's your favorite color?"

"Blue."

____

They get back late, and Armie offers to walk Timmy to his dorm. "I'd rather you walk me to your dorm," he grins. 

Nick is about to speak. He closes his mouth. "This," he gestures at Armie and Timmy, "Is too much. I don't need to know about this."

____

Timmy is down to sweatpants. Armie is in his boxers. "You really won't fuck me," Timmy asks. 

Armie nods and nuzzles against Timmy's neck. Kisses his collar bone. "I really won't fuck you."

"And you won't let me fuck you?"

Armie nods. 

"So, how do you get off?"

At that, Armie blushes. 

"You do get off, right? This isn't some weird abstinence thing, right? You jerked off the other night, so can we do that?"

Armie rolls off of Timmy. Sits back, between his thighs. "Do you remember the first night?"

"Do I remember the fucking first night?" Timmy brings himself up to his elbows. "Do I remember the night where your fucking ass was stretched, ready for a dick, wanting a dick? Yeah, I fucking remember the first night."

Armie gets off the bed and drops to the floor. Pulls out a shoebox. Opens it up to show Timmy the green dildo. 

"Shit," Timmy hisses. He presses his palm against his cock. Armie grips the dildo and walks over to his desk. Pulls his chair out and twists it around so it's facing Timmy. Slaps the base against the seat. Asks, "Do you want me to show you?"

Timmy drops back against the pillows. Throws his arm against his eyes. "This is going to be a long, long, long fucking season."

____

"Can I touch you," Timmy asks. 

Armie is on his knees, one hand supporting himself on the floor. The other three fingers deep in his ass. 

"I want to touch you. I want to taste you. Fuck."

Armie hums and looks back at Timmy. "Well, I guess--if you ask nicely--you can taste me."

Timmy fists his cock. Licks his lips. Leans down and kisses the back of Armie's thigh. Lets his lips linger. "Can I please taste your ass, Armie?"

Armie nods. "Oh, I guess."

"You guess?"

Armie nods. Grins. 

"Such an asshole," Timmy grins before placing a kiss to the base of Armie's tailbone. Swipes his tongue down. Pulls back. Leans forward and licks a broad strip along Armie's fingers, his hole. 

____

"No," Timmy whines. He's on his knees in front of Armie's desk chair. "I want you to face me." 

Armie looks over his shoulder at him, his hand resting firmly on the back of the chair. "You do realize I just spent all night squatting behind a plate and my thighs hurt, right? And you're going to demand that I--"

Timmy shrugs. "You could just get on your back and I could fuck you. Or ride you." He bites his lip. "Try to ride you."

Armie groans and stands up. Turns around. He places one hand on the seat as he sinks down. The other on Timmy's cheek. 

"This is literally the hottest thing I've ever seen," Timmy whispers while Armie fucks himself, slowly (so. fucking. slowly.) on the dildo. Timmy jerks himself off faster. Asks, "Can I come on your cock? I want to come on your cock. I want to come on your cock and then I want to suck your dick while you fuck yourself. Fuck. Shit. I want you to come in my mouth. On my face. Jesus Christ you're beautiful. You're really fucking beautiful, Armie."

Armie laughs. 

Nods. 

___

nick: _i asked liz out and she said yes where do i take her what do i wear holy shit_  
liz: _nick finally asked me out. do i need to wait for the second date to fuck him? will you be mad?_

Timmy is still on the floor. "Holy shit. I can not wait until the end of the season."

"Do you want to see how weird my friends are?" Armie asks from the bed. 

Timmy grins. "Fuck yeah, I do."

Armie rolls over and hands his phone to Timmy. 

Ponders. "Hey, do you want to get dinner tomorrow?"

Timmy looks up. Grins. Nods.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is pointless. Oh well.

They make it to the post season. They make it to the finals. They lose, 5-4. 

It doesn't matter. Nick is drafted to the Angels and and Armie is drafted--first round--to the Dodgers. 

Timmy gets a collection of short stories published. 

"I didn't even know you were working on this," Armie says when Timmy hands the book to him. "This is," he kisses Timmy's cheek. "Amazing. Holy shit."

Armie hasn't fucked Timmy yet, but he wants to. 

He really wants to. 

"I should probably wait until I read this to fuck you," Armie teases. Slaps the book against his palm. Winks. 

_____

 

"So, this is your place," Armie smiles. 

Timmy's dorm is plain. It's a single, which is impressive for a freshman. Aside from a bookshelf, there isn't much going on in the room. 

"This looks like a prison."

Timmy shrugs. "I don't spend a lot of time here." He steps to Armie. Laces an arm around his waist. Whispers, "So, should we see if you can fit your dick in me?" 

Armie grins. He doesn't even care that they lost. 

____

"Shit," Timmy hisses. Armie has three fingers in him. 

"Oh, is that too much?" Armie asks. Rubs his thumb down Timmy's crack. Pulls his fingers out, then shoves them back in. "That to much for you?"

Timmy shakes his head, then presses his face into the pillow. 

Armie presses back in. Once, twice. Adds his thumb. 

Timmy shakes. "Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Armie. Fuck." Timmy's body freezes. 

"Too much? Can you take it?" Armie massages his hole. Spits and presses his saliva against Timmy's hole. "You look so good like this. Fuck. Even if you can't take my dick, I just want to see you spread like this."

Timmy looks back."I can take it," he says. 

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

_____

Timmy takes Armie's cock until he bottoms out.

"Okay?" Armie asks. 

"Fuck," Timmy says. Licks his lips. "Just give me like," he moves his hips a bit. Hisses. Groans. "It hurts, but it feels so fucking good," he whispers. 

"I can stop."

"Don't you fucking dare," Timmy says. 

So he doesn't.

He doesn't.

**Author's Note:**

> bartbarthelme on tumblr.


End file.
